


Worth the Money

by Servena



Series: Witchkeeper [3]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Captivity, Gen, Horses, Magic, Magic-Users, Mute!Gene, Muteness, Names, Past Abuse, Praise, Slavery, Witches, Witchkeeper!Babe, alternative universe, witch!gene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 07:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20467604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Servena/pseuds/Servena
Summary: It’s his job to take care of the horses.





	Worth the Money

It’s his job to take care of the horses. He makes sure they are watered and fed and tends to them when they become lame from the bad roads. It’s unusual since most animals are wary of witches, they can sense something is off about them even if they don’t understand what it is, and horses are especially skittish creatures. But ever since he first used his magic to heal the effect of years of overuse on their bodies, the raw spots where their saddles had chafed, the scratches on their legs, they’ve warmed up to him and now let themselves be handled with ease. Sometimes he can’t shake the feeling they understand more than people give them credit for.

He repays their trust by spending a lot of his spare time on them, carefully untangling their manes and brushing their coats until they gleam like silk. When his master had bought them they had both been a mix of muddy brown and dusty grey, but after a lot of scrubbing with water from a nearby river, his master’s gelding turned out to be a beautiful chestnut, while his mare is so dark she’s almost black. Now that they get fed well their ribs can no longer be counted, and they carry their heads high, ears pointed forward and eyes full of life.

It’s a quiet Sunday afternoon and they’ve stopped for rest near a small lake. The horses get to shed their bridles and saddles, but before they can roam freely, he cleans them. He starts out by scratching out their hooves and brushing their coats. His whole attention is on his task, the rhythmic movement of the brush, the warmth of the animal beneath his hands, the feeling of a nose nudging his side in the search for one more carrot. Finally he picks the nettles out of their manes and then carefully combs through the hair.

Still, he’s done far too quickly. After he stashes the comb away, he regards the results of his work. There’s nothing more left to be done, they almost look ready for a parade. Except…

He thinks for a moment, then he steps up to his horse (the horse he gets to ride, he reminds himself, not his, no more than the clothes he wears, no more than himself) and begins to braid her mane. At first she shakes his head indignantly, but after another carrot she lets him be. He uses the leather laces he keeps in his pocket for all kinds of purposes to tie the braids up at the end.

“What are you doing?” his master’s voice asks from behind.

He starts and almost lets go of a half-finished braid. A lot of people at first think he’s deaf since he doesn’t speak, but his master figured out quickly that that’s not the case, maybe a bit too quickly for his liking, since he doesn’t like to be approached from behind.

He keeps perfectly still, glancing at his master from underneath his dark hear to read his expression. His shoulders relax when he sees that he’s grinning. “Can you do mine as well?”

He nods slightly.

He expects him to leave and go back to whatever he was doing before, but instead his master settles down in the high grass next to him. It feels awkward to be watched, but he finishes his work and then turns to the chestnut, who gets bribed with another carrot first. Only when he’s done does he turn around to gauge his master’s reaction. The smile he sees puts him at ease.

“I like it!” He gets up to regard his horse closer and nods approvingly. “To be honest, I was worried they wouldn’t be worth the money, but they look much better now. You cleaned them up well!”

The unexpected praise shouldn’t feel as good as it does. But in truth, he’s been thirsting for those words of kindness more every day, and not just because it means that he’s safe for the moment. He wants to do well. He wants to show him that he was worth the money, too. This desire frightens him more than he can say.

“I guess they need names”, the boy continues. “I mean, I guess you’re not calling them anything, but I feel bad not having names for them. What do you think?”

In truth, both horses already have names, at least in his head. He’s spent the first day after they were bought to come up with them. Still he hesitates a bit before writing them down into a bare spot of earth with a stick, pointing at the respective horse each time.

Babe squints at the writing. “Duana and Hamra”, he reads out. “What does that mean?”

He writes “Dark” beneath “Duana” and “Red” beneath “Hamra”. It’s an old language that witches still use for spells and incantations, so the words come easy to him.

His master grins. “Alright, that makes sense. I like that.” He turns back to the gelding and reaches out to scratch it behind the ears. “You wanna be called Hamra?”

The horse just huffs and turns his head so Babe can reach the good spots, but apparently his master takes that as agreement, since he nods and says: “So that’s what they’re called.”

Then he starts to make his way back to the group of trees were they put down their things. But on his way back his master turns around for a moment to say, with a smile as bright as his red hair: “You did good.”

Duana uses his momentary distraction to pull the last carrot out of his pocket.


End file.
